


In The Days Before...

by critterdee_67



Series: KINTSUGI: Dean's Life [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 14:38:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17624288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/critterdee_67/pseuds/critterdee_67
Summary: Prequel to Kintsugi: The Art of Precious Scars. This looks into Dean's life from the time he moves to Texas until he meets Castiel.





	In The Days Before...

****

**BOBBY**

Bobby gripped the steering wheel and rolled his eyes, Dean and Charlie may very well be the end of him the way they carry on. Those two were always driving him and everyone else nuts with their bickering or crazy imaginative games, and if they’re too quiet, Bobby always sends one of the older boys to check on them — especially after the incident with the attempted Iron Man Robot in the junkyard at the edge of the Ranch. Whatever made those two think that many bottle rockets in one tin—can robot hand was a good idea, Bobby will never know.

On this particular afternoon, Dean finally got his cast off, and those two kids were already planning one of their adventures. Two months ago, Dean had narrowly escaped the fangs of a copperhead out in the shed, and in the process, he’d managed to fall over the fence and break his leg.

Bobby heard talk of the tree house and bike trails. He wasn’t eavesdropping, they’re sitting in the cab of a pickup truck, plus he’s Dean’s guardian, so he should get some leeway on listening for conniving plans by the two biggest masterminds in the house. So far their plans sounded safe enough for Dean’s freshly un-casted leg, as long as they take it easy on the trails and that gangly boy doesn’t fall out of the tree house.

As soon as Bobby parks the truck, Dean and Charlie took off to get their bikes from the barn.

“You do too much and hurt that leg again — you ain’t gettin’ outa your chores this time,” Bobby yelled after them.

“I’ll be careful, Bobby!” Dean hollered back just as he barely missed a low hanging limb and stumbled over a root.

Bobby shook his head; he really didn’t need more hospital bills.

Later that same week, Victor Henriksen, the social worker now in charge of Dean’s case — who was recently promoted to the top position in the local CPS office — paid Bobby a visit. All of the boys’ cases were reviewed by Victor, although there were other Social Workers working most of the cases. Victor still handles a few personally, Dean was one of Victor’s _special_ cases. He had been the one to collect the boy when he arrived in Austin. He’s never had a kid in his charge who is as slick as Dean. That boy escaped them half a dozen times en route and twice again once in Texas custody. Victor had never met a sixteen-year-old so capable of picking handcuffs and getting out of locked cars or rooms. He’d figured the kid a flight risk and his first opinion was to send Dean to a more secure facility, but Bobby fought to have the boy send to the Ranch and won.

Victor still thinks the kid is bad news.

Bobby and Victor are both strong-willed individuals and tended to butt heads at every meeting. Victor attacked the way Bobby allowed the boys to work the more difficult jobs on the Ranch.

“Look, Victor, I’ve been running this ranch for over thirty years, and we’ve had the boys’ home here for over twenty. Heck, some of the staff used to be part of the system and learned their trade right here on this ranch…”

“In other words, you put these kids to work…” Henrikson frowned accusingly at Bobby.

“It’s a working ranch.” Bobby declared. “There are chores for everyone. These boys learn responsibility, self-discipline and maybe even a little pride in themselves. No one is asked to take on a task that they are unable to handle, or to do anything that is counter-intuitive to their growth as a person.”

“And allowing them to do these chores, these tasks, without adult supervision. Does that seem like a good plan to you?”

“Why, you…” Bobby growled. “We are trying to instill good work ethics and social responsibility. I want these boys to become better adults than the examples they’ve experienced in their young lives.”

“Perhaps your idea of child safety is a bit outdated. According to the report, you had three boys out on a fence line unsupervised and working with dangerous equipment, and one of them was critically injured. Where was your staff when he was lying unconscious and bleeding?” Victor bit back.

Suddenly both men were startled by the yelling from upstairs. By the time they reach the cause of all the racket, Benny was standing in the bedroom door, shocked and staring at Dean. Bobby looked down at the boy on the bed; he looked so young, so small, so frightened. Bobby had never seen Dean have a fit like this, he’d never seen any of his boys this upset and lost.

By this point, Dean was screaming incomprehensibly, no longer using words, just screaming and crying and scratching and gouging his own arms. “Dean! Son! Stop this.” Yelled Bobby trying to snap the boy out of his tantrum.

Bobby sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed the thrashing boy by the wrists, holding Dean’s arms above this own head, pinning his wrists to the bed to stop him from doing more damage to himself.

When Dean felt his arms being tightly held above his head, he went completely still. Tears are streaming down his cheeks and terror in his wide eyes as he stared at Bobby.

“I’m sorry, Sir.” His voice is small and emotionless. “I-I’ll be good.”

Bobby immediately let go of Dean and stood up from the bed.

Wiping the tears from his face, Dean began to undress. Moving mechanically and not looking at anyone. He pulls off his t-shirt, dropping it to the floor and shaking violently as he tried to unbutton his jeans.

“Dean. Stop! What are you doing?” Asked Bobby, on the verge of tears himself. Bobby knew the boy had a rough past, abused in physical and sexual ways, but he didn’t realize just how bad those experiences had affected the kid. Seeing the boy undress and offer sexual favors made Bobby’s stomach turn.

“Bobby,” said Victor, touching the man’s arm, pulling his attention away from the half-dressed boy lying shaking on the bed. “Just cover him with a blanket and let’s go talk. I believe there are some gaps in this boy’s file. We need to talk about a plan of care, and I have some research to do.”

“Benny, will you please watch him while he rests?” Victor asks. Benny nods in affirmation.

Victor knew he had a lot of work ahead of him, to try to track down information in Dean’s case. Getting details from another state is never an easy task. But there was something about this boy that pulled at Victor’s heart; he wanted to help him. That simple fact was something that he and Bobby were able to agree on.

 

**VICTOR**

Victor spent weeks calling and emailing, attempting to gather Dean’s records from Kansas. There were some obvious holes in the thin file he’d received from the Kansas CPS office. He spoke with clerks at the CPD, the police, and various facilities Dean had been shuffled through. Generally, getting very little information from each source. But he built a bigger picture than he had to begin with.

Dean may have been a pain in Victor's… everything, but the kid still deserved to have fair treatment and the opportunity for a good life.

Summer progressed, and Victor kept a watchful eye on the Ranch, on Bobby, the staff, the boys, and a special eye on Dean.

Dammit, how did he let that boy get under his skin? Every so often it happened, some kid has some special spark that shines so brightly it touched all those around them. Dean was one of those special, amazing kids who could be exceptional if given a chance. Victor can see this; it’s sad that Dean can’t — yet.

A couple of weeks later, Victor got a call from Benny, Dean ran away, and Bobby was out looking for him. It seemed that Dean and Charlie had an argument and Dean took off. Victor notified the Sheriff, but also let them know that Bobby was already out searching for him. The next day, Dean was safely back home after being rescued from behind a truck stop. Dean had some scrapes and bruises from a fall, but otherwise, he was physically unharmed.

Just before school began, Bobby called Victor to notify him that the sweet girl Charlie was on flight A321 that went down outside Knoxville, Tennessee. Dean was devastated.

Dean’s behavior rapidly declined. He began sneaking out, getting into fights — which he often lost and ended up pretty badly banged up — stealing, and drinking. Victor made several visits to the Ranch and the school. He spoke with each of Dean’s teachers and many of the Ranch hands. Out of everyone, Dean was the least cooperative.

When Dean’s did an abrupt turnaround, and he unexpectedly returned to a more normal, well-behaved young man; Victor was cautious. Dean knew how to work the system, and his good student act may well have been just an act. The next few weeks went well, and Dean seems to be his level-headed self again. That is until Victor received a call from the Sheriff saying that Dean had run away again and this time he didn’t appear to want to be found.

Over the next few months, Victor continued to investigate, hearing whispers of a kid matching Dean’s description being here or there. But, every lead fell empty.

Victor was sure that when Bobby died of a heart attack, Dean would come back. It didn’t happen, and there was no longer any news or here say about Dean’s whereabouts. Dean was over eighteen, and Victor no longer had jurisdiction. Still, it bothered him that he lost this kid.

 

**CHARLIE**

It was the summer before junior year, and Charlie was working at her Dad’s Arcade for extra pocket money. She overheard a few of the kids from the Boys Ranch outside town talking about the _new kid_ and how weird he was, a total _city boy_ from Kansas. She listened as the boys laughed about his failures and the destruction of the chicken surround — _The Great Chicken Run_ they called it. They cursed about how the new boy was coddled, and they had to round up the fowl and fix the fencing and coop.

Charlie decided to search the new boy out and see how he was dealing once school starts; since the guy never comes to the Arcade with the other boys. There were a few times that she saw the new boy, Dean, come into town with Bobby to do some shopping; and man, was he a grumpy-gus. It seemed that any time she saw them in town, there was some sort of disagreement happening between the two.

Luckily for Charlie, Dean was in her homeroom. She observed him off and on all morning the first day of school, and by lunchtime, she was determined to show this new kid that not everyone was as petty as those senior boys from the Ranch. She found Dean sitting alone in the cafeteria and plopped down right next to him.

“Hi. I’m Charlie. We have homeroom and English together.” And thus, was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

The second week of school, Dean hit on Charlie, because he thought that’s what every girl wanted. But, when he traced his hand up her thigh a little too far; she punched him square in the mouth — giving him a fat, bloody lip. After that incident, they both divulged that they preferred their own kind, that is to say, that Charlie _only_ liked girls, and Dean, though he has dated and been with girls, he preferred boys. Charlie would go on and on about soft breast and long legs on this girl or that, and Dean practically swooned over the jocks and all those muscles. Both agreed that gym class was a high point of the week if only for the changing rooms and open showers.

As the school year progressed, their friendship grew stronger, by spring break they were inseparable. They helped each other pick up dates at the mall and then teased about kissing and going all gaga over their dates.

They built bicycles out of old pike parts they found in the barn at the Ranch, and they had adventures and played dress-up games (though Dean would deny it to the other boys).

At the beginning of summer, Dean broke his leg, so their biking was out, and they were back to bumming rides from Ranch hands or Charlie’s parents. They still had fun, but once that cast was off, they were free to ride and explore again.

When Charlie told Dean about being accepted one year early to MIT, she expected him to be happy for her. Instead, he got angry and ran out of the house. It took Bobby most of the night to find him. It took a few days but Charlie finally convinced Dean that his senior year would be alright without her there, and how he would be a senior while she was starting all over as a freshman. That bit of news finally got a laugh out of him.

Charlie was thrilled that Dean was allowed to go to the airport to see her off. Although, Dean seemed more nervous just thinking about her flying than she was, and she was the one actually getting on the plane. She spent ten minutes calming him down on the car ride after he saw the sign for the airport parking exit.

“No, Dean. I would _not_ prefer to take a bus. They are not safer than flying. I don’t care if you did ride a bus from Kansas to Texas without it crashing.”

When they reached the area just before Security, where only passengers were allowed, Dean hesitated to let go of her hand. She gave him a big hug.

“I love you, Dean Winchester. I always will. We’re forever friends. Now, I want you to be good and make new friends at school this year. Hey, what about Jared? He seemed to kinda like you, remember?” Charlie kissed his cheek, “Keep your phone on because I’m gonna be texting you until we have to turn off our phones — then again as soon as we land in Atlanta, then Boston. Awe, damn, I gotta go.”

She hugged and kissed her family and ruffled Dean’s hair before running down the concourse to Security.

 

**DEAN**

Dean sat cross-legged on the couch, grinning at the last text from Charlie. He flipped through the pictures she sent of the shops, waiting area, people, out the window, and in the girls' bathroom at the Atlanta airport. They had been texting throughout her entire layover. She kept him informed of the storm happening there in Atlanta.

Joe sat on the couch and kicked Dean to get him to move over, causing him to drop his phone.

“Dammit, Joe, STOP!” Dean batted Joe’s feet away.

“Boys. I’m watching the news.” Bobby warned. The two boys glared at each other, Alphie giggled and got a swat to the back of his head from Dean who shot the younger boy a warning look.

Dean heard the reporter telling about an airline crash in Tennessee, and he half paid attention, checking that his phone was not damaged. Surely Charlie would be texting soon. The news reporter on the scene of the crash described the major damage over several miles. The camera panned to the distance, and there were smoldering bits of debris all across the field behind the reporter.

“... Over 260 people lost their lives when Airbus A321 crashed shortly after take off. The plane went down near …”

Dean stood from the couch, drawn to the news story. He stared blankly at the TV, dropping his phone to the floor between his feet.

“B - B -“ Unable to form words, he felt light-headed, and his breath hitched.

The next thing he knew was that it was morning, and he was on the couch. He laid there looking around the room, and his eyes landed on the blank screen of the TV, and he remembered.

“Charlie.”

She’s gone. Her flight crashed. No survivors. That’s what the reporter said — _no survivors_.

His stomach flip-flopped, and he ran down the hall to the bathroom, pushing Tom away from the sink and out of his way so that he could puke in the toilet.

Dean didn’t eat for three days, every time he sat at the table or even smelled food cooking, his stomach churned, and he had to vomit. Bobby thought he might be contagious and took him to the doctor. The tests all came back negative, and the doctor deemed him fit to start school and told Bobby that _the boy is acting out for attention._

School started, and Dean went through the motions, attending enough classes to keep the school from calling Bobby.

He met Dwight and his boys one afternoon while skipping math class. Dwight was in a couple of Dean’s classes, and it turned out that he had some good pot, and Dean could handle algebra much better when he’s stoned. Dean made a special deal with one of Dwight’s boys to trade bjs for weed.

While mending a fence at the corral, Dean overheard some migrant workers talking about a poker game. He sneaked out that night and won two hands and got quite drunk. The next morning, he complained of a stomach ache — throwing up in the trashcan helped him plead his case to stay home from school and get out of extra chores. He spent half the day on the roof outside his bedroom window getting high.

A couple of weeks later, Bobby confronted him about the drinking, fighting, and sneaking out. Dean promised to do better and begged not to be sent to juvie. That’s when he remembers Jared.

He talked Jared into being his partner in Science class.

Over the next few weeks, Dean proved to Bobby that he could behave (Bobby didn’t need to know about the weed, it just helped Dean stay calm, that’s all) and he talked up his friendship with Jared, how great the boy was and how smart. He even got to stay over a couple of times.

As it turned out, Jared was a virgin and had never had even one girlfriend. Dean knew just how to fix that little issue. One day, after a test that they both did well on, Dean decided they should celebrate with ice cream at the Dairy Queen. They got their cones and went to sit in the shade behind the restaurant. Dean made quite a show of licking and mouthing his ice cream, moaning about how good it tasted, and how smooth it was on his tongue. Jared had gotten a dip cone and some ice cream was dripping out of the cracked chocolate coating. Dean leaned in close and licked all the way up Jared’s cone, from his hand and to the tip of his ice cream. All the while, keeping his eyes focused on the other boy’s.

Jared took a shaky breath and almost dropped his cone when he leaned in and kissed the ice cream off Dean’s mouth.

Dean and Jared kept their relationship quiet because Jared was afraid of what the others on the basketball team might say or do if they found out he was with a gay boy. Jared kept his distance from Dean at school, only sitting with him in shared classes. He ate lunch with his teammates — which did not include Dean. They only hung out at Jared’s house and Dean enjoyed the time they shared.  Dean tried to ignore the way Jared treated him at school, knowing how it felt to get beat up for being gay, even though it hurt that Jared seemed to be putting more and more distance between them. Everything came to a head when Dean saw Jared making out with some blonde cheerleader behind the Dairy Queen. Right where the two boys shared their first kiss. Jared obviously didn’t see Dean, he was too busy sucking face with that _girl_.

Jared was still Dean’s main excuse with Bobby, (though the boys barely spoke anymore) asking to spend the weekend so that they were able to complete a science project — even though there was no such project, and they were no longer lab partners. Dean usually spent those weekends roaming the streets of Austin and hanging out with some of the hustlers or sneaking into bars to hustle pool.

Dean had made up his mind that he wasn’t going to be a target at this school, nor was he going to get tossed out like yesterday’s trash when his eighteenth birthday came around in January. He knew how the system worked and after eighteen the CSP has no room for some troublesome kid, besides he would be considered an adult. As an adult, he would no longer have a place at the Ranch. He knew there wasn’t going to be some magical job opening or room for him with the younger boys. Everyone leaves soon after they turn eighteen or after graduation. Dean knew he couldn’t get into college, of course there was no money for that. So before anyone could do any of that to him, he decided to get out on his own — no matter what that meant.

“Bobby, I know it’s only Thursday, but could I stay over at Jared’s starting tonight instead of tomorrow night? We have a lot to do to finish that project before Monday.” Dean asked at breakfast.

“What about your chores?”

“I asked Joe if he could do them, I promise to make it up next weekend.” Dean smiled pleasantly.

“Joe, did you agree to take Dean’s chores? Or did he bully you into it?” Bobby asked, still a little untrusting of Dean.

“Yes, sir. Dean’s been real helpful with the horses this week, and I told him that if he swore to make it up by doing some extra work again next week, I wouldn’t mind tending the chicks and helping in the garden this weekend.” Joe confirmed Dean’s statement.

“Well, as long as you boys have worked it out, I don’t have a problem with it. Dean, be sure to use your best manners and be on your best behavior.”

“Thanks, Bobby!” Dean smiled and finished his milk before running upstairs to gather his backpack.

* * *

 

Dean wished he’d packed some warmer clothes to layer up more at night, even in Texas the December nights are cold.

During the day he stayed plenty warm by hanging out in a few different pool halls or bars, hustling pool or darts. He had to move around a lot because that Henriksen was asking around for him and Dean knew he was better off on the street than back in the system. At night, he had set himself up a few places around town to sleep, not going to the same spot two nights in a row.

He learned quickly which places were best for getting handouts and didn’t ask questions. The kid that washed dishes at the bar on the corner of 3rd and Red River sometimes had some leftovers for Dean, so he walked down the alley by Waller Creek before heading down to the park to use the facilities. The food at the Moonshine Grill was awesome, even if he did get half-eaten, cold food. It was better than digging it out of the bins in the back. Dean also found the best places to get weed and earn even more money than hustling pool could bring.

The prostitutes down in the shady side of town treated Dean like their own little prince, always going on about how pretty the boy was. They’d get high and play cards when it was too cold for the girls to get any business.

By spring, Dean had a few customers of his own. He still preferred staying on the same street with the girls instead of down where the other boys hustled. The boys were always fighting, and there were harder drugs being passed through that area.

Between hustling cards, pool and himself, Dean often had enough money to get a room for a night or two in one of the cheap motels.

After about six months, Dean was trusted by most of the prostitutes and the women gave him a room to rent, super cheap. Dean was soon kicked out of the house by their boss, a creepy thug who tossed Dean back out onto the street. The man accused him of stealing his business and threatened to kill him if he didn’t get out and stop working the same streets.

One of Dean’s special skills, other than being the prince of blow jobs — was not getting caught by the cops, or at least nothing that got him tossed into jail. He listened to the talk in the motels and on the streets. Dealers and pimps talk, too much. Dean was quick to switch into his innocent street urchin mode and hide out when he heard anything pertaining a raid or bust about to go down. He had plenty of hiding spots around town whenever he needed to hide from the cops or from the world in general.

His anxiety and nightmares only got worse while he was living rough. He might have been free of the CSP, but everything was scary and so many people were out to hurt him he had to stay on his guard all the time. If it wasn’t the other hustlers, it was the pimps or johns; but it seemed that every day he was fighting or running.

There were good days; the days the clinics, churches and other do-good groups came out to do their _christian duty_ and help the poor. These groups visit always meant free shit. Dean looked younger than his age and even after he turned twenty-one, the youth groups treated him to free food, clothes, and sometimes a hot shower and decent bed for the night. The free clinic was always good for plenty of condoms and health checks, and drugs.  It was super easy to get Triple C, Pseudos, or whatever the clinics brought. Unlike some of the others, Dean didn’t steal — much — from those who came to give handouts. Groups who were treated badly or robbed too often stopped bringing the free shit.

All Dean had to do was flash his pretty smile and blink up at them with his puppy eyes, and he could get extra helpings of just about anything. Faking — or exaggerating — a cough got him loads of cough meds. Because, the good people who came to help usually brought cough and cold meds, pain relievers and sometimes random things like Dramamine. Those god-fearing-do-gooders had no idea they were an addict's best friend.

Dean liked to curl up in one of his hidey-holes and get lost from the world — taking some Triple C or getting high on a bunch of Dramamine that he saved up for when he didn’t have the cash for weed. Cold meds were great for that pumped up feeling on days he wanted to get shit done. Most of the time that he did have money he spent most of it on drugs, knowing that he can get free food just about anywhere.

Sometimes he’d get a job washing dishes or as a laborer on a construction site. Always being paid in cash, right along with the illegals — which were thick in Texas. He couldn’t get a legal job anyway because he didn’t know his social security number. He also worked in a few of the local strip clubs, mostly cleaning, but every so often he’d get a chance to get up on the stage and strut his twink-ass for some decent money. Nobody cared if he was twenty-three or thirteen, they like his pretty face, round ass, and his cock — no one even cared about his scars once his cock was out. The lighting in most of those places was too poor to see much detail anyway.

Dean was on the streets almost seven years when he finally got busted with something that would stick. Prostitution. The cops got slick this time. That damn undercover let Dean finish him off before pulling out his badge and arresting Dean, along with several others. The bastard had even tried to get Dean to go natural and leave off the sleeve — which Dean would have no part of, no glove means no love.

The cops were pleased with their haul, taking in about twenty prostitutes that night. The women were all tossed into one holding cell and the guys into another, of course, there were more women than men. It might have been better to keep all the prostitutes together; the boys had it rough in the pen. Those redneck-drunk-and-disorderlies already in the cell had no qualms about beating the shit out of the queer boy prostitutes. Of course, they also wanted to be serviced by those same queer boys. What the hell is wrong with hetero-hillbillies?

Things could have gone differently if only that local redneck hadn’t tried to force himself on Dean like he did. The others in the cell either cheered for the bastard or taunted Dean to fight. Dean fought and lost, gaining a dislocated shoulder and a concussion. He was moved to a separate cell after a visit to the hospital for his injuries. By the time he returned to jail, most of the other prostitutes were gone. There was no one to post his bail, so he remained in jail even after the rest of them made bail and were released. Dean was all alone in a cell for the next week, supposedly awaiting arraignment. But the awful things that happened during that week were worse than what he dealt with working the streets. He couldn’t even fight back because there was no way he would strike a cop. The nightly rapes were more than he could handle, he got his hands on a sharp piece of metal and cut both of his forearms bad enough to need medical attention again. His wounds looked like a botched suicide attempt, and his actions got him in front of the judge again.

The judge deemed him unfit for regular jail and sentenced him to the Ladybird Center for Mental Health for an eighteen-month term, to be reviewed for further sentencing at the end of the time served. If Dean’s mental state improved, he could be released and if not he could face state hospital lock up.

Dean was angry at the judge and screamed profanities and fought the officers who were taking him back to his cell prior to his move to the mental health center. He took his anger out on anyone who came near him for the next two days, and he tore at his own flesh when he was alone. The police were unsure how to deal with him and were relieved when the orderlies came to pick him up. They brought sedatives, and after a two-hour fight from Dean the meds finally kicked in, and the orderlies wheeled him out to the ambulance to deliver him to The Center.

During Deans first two weeks at the Center, he was in a secure, solitary cell while the doctors waited for him to lose some of his anger, get the fight out of his system, and try to get a medication routine started. After the second week, Dean was begging to be let out.

Once Dean was in his own room, he continued fighting and cursing the orderlies and anyone who dared say anything to him.  He tore up his room and found ways to self harm. Eventually his room was stripped bare, and for two weeks he had only a mattress on the floor. The orderlies even took the door off his bathroom. After Dean punched the mirror, they took that away and attached a metal mirror to the wall. Dean knew how to fabricate a weapon out of just about anything which lead to the towel bars and curtain rods being removed.

By the end of his second month at the Center, Dean stopped fighting as much. He also stopped talking, and stopped taking part in any activities. There were days that he had to be restrained and force-fed by a feeding tube because he refused to eat. Those restraints were his undoing, the mere sight of them sent him into a fit. Being restrained or the even just the threat of being restrained for his behavior was worse to him than being locked in solitary confinement. The orderlies learned quickly that Dean was stronger than he looked. Most times it took two men to hold him and a third to get him locked down.

The main reasons for this sort of treatment were fighting, refusing to take meds or to eat, stealing, breaking things, self-harm and just about any other misdemeanor. The fact that he wouldn’t talk made it even more difficult for staff to find the best way to treat him or discipline him for unwanted behavior.

Self harm was one of the biggest crimes Dean could commit at the Center. But it wasn’t fair — they didn’t understand — they didn’t have the need — the need that urged Dean to use his mastery of sleight-of-hand to abscond with a mislaid razor blade when he visited the barber for his shave. Dean wasn’t allowed to even use an electric shaver without supervision, and had to be shaved by a clod of a barber who worked at the Center. How anyone could do a bad job with an electric razor was beyond Dean’s comprehension. If Dean was extra nice to the guy, he would sometimes let Dean shave himself — which felt wonderful. This day was one when he played saccharine-sweet and sucked up to the guy’s ego by complementing and bragging on his skills. (gag- all lies) But, it distracted the idiot while Dean slipped the single-edge blade into the waistband of his scrubs.

The thrill of having that little tool tucked away was almost as exhilarating as actually cutting. Dean knew he wouldn’t be able to hide it long, so he planned to finish the job that same day. It had been weeks since he bled. The need was almost worse than the withdrawals from heroin. No, this was worse in its own way. Cutting had been with Dean most of his life and drugs were just an escape, a waste of time, he could do without drugs — his body may hurt for a while when he stopped, but drugs are meaningless. Cutting is everything. Cutting takes him where no drugs ever could. But, cutting was a big gamble here. If he got caught, it meant restriction and restraints, and time in the infirmary. That gamble sent his pulse racing, and he knew he had to do it.

* * *

 

His councilor kept trying to help him, urging him to contribute during group sessions or participate in activities. But Dean would sit silently through group and pout, turning away from activities and games.

One day during group session, they had special guests; Dick Roman, the Director of the Center, and a local artist.  The Artist was introduced, and it was announced that he would be teaching them art classes.

Dean was excited about the art classes; it was something he always wanted to do. But by now he had withdrawn to the point that he wasn’t able to even look up at the man while he was talking to the group.

When the artist gifted the group with notebooks and instructed them to personalize them, Dean wanted to shout for joy — thank the man — smile, laugh and jump up and down — or even give him a hug to thank him for the gift. He did none of that; he sat quietly and held the book tight against his chest.

While the books were being distributed, a fight broke out between Aimee and Ruby, and Dean sat petrified; not wanting to get involved in any way. Afraid that if he even watched the fight, they'd take back the book.

* * *

 

Dean held the sharpie in his hand and stared at the plain tan cover of the book.

What if he messed up? What if he drew something stupid? If he didn’t do this right, would he get kicked out of the class? Would the artist take back the book?

Maybe if he did something simple… just his name, yeah, he could put his name for now and get more instructions at art class. So he uncapped the pen and made the downward stroke for the D. His hand started to shake, and he stared at the mark on the otherwise clean cover. Shit… what if putting his name is wrong? The Artist had all kinds of drawings on his book.

Dean stood up and paced a few steps to and fro next to the table, glancing at the book and the pen on the table. Taking a deep breath, he sat down and printed his name in the upper right corner of the front cover. He let out a sigh and opened the book to the front inside over and wrote -

PROPERTY

OF

DEAN WINCHESTER

He closed the book and laid the pen on the table; then he took the book to his room and put it in his sock drawer for safe keeping until the next art class.

* * *

 

Dean thought about how the Artist acted and reacted to being in a room full of nut jobs. The guy was really cool and calm, and seemed tin control, but nice and gentle with his words and actions. He definitely had a nice voice. And eyes, Dean replayed in his mind, the moment that their eyes met — over and over. Dean had been mesmerized by those big blue eyes. The fact that he had to wait another four days to sneak another peek at the Artist made Dean grumpy.

 

**ELEANOR**

Eleanor Visyak’s position as the head counselor didn’t leave room for many patients; she had a great team of counselors to work with the patients at the Ladybird Center for Mental Health. They saw both in and out patient cases.

Turner James was given the new patient, Dean Winchester. Turner was great with just about anyone and young men seemed to open up to him easily. Eleanor thought him a good fit.

Dean was a tough case, and if it hadn’t been for his self harming tendencies, the man would have been sent to the Texas state correctional hospital.

Turner dealt with Dean’s attitude and abuse for a full three weeks before he requested to be relieved; it was just too much and was distracting him from other patients. Eleanor decided to take the case herself instead of assigning another of her counselors — partially because she didn’t want too many changes in the man’s care, and partially because she found him to be an interesting challenge.

This Dean was strong-willed and fought all attempts of care when he first arrived, it took two weeks of solitary confinement — seeing only the orderly who brought his meals, Turner, and the doctor or nurse — to get him to calm down enough to let him be around the other patients. During his first few weeks, he had to be restrained or sedated for them to complete a medical examination or even get him to bathe. He ate fast and hid food in his room, fighting the orderlies when they tried to take it away.

Not long after Turner handed the case over to Eleanor, Dean made an abrupt change and fell silent. Eleanor feared he might attempt suicide and put him under twenty-four-hour watch. There were moments of self-harm but never anything life-threatening.

Eleanor watched Dean’s actions and interactions with others at the Center, especially when he didn’t think she was around.

Even without speech, he tended to display an air of authority around most of the other patients and showed defiance toward staff. There was an underlying sense of fear in all his interactions; he didn’t appear to trust anyone.

While watching the patients in the day room, Eleanor was making notes of the occurrences and mannerisms of those in the room. She played particular attention to Ed, Harry, and Dean’s interactions.

Dean was sitting in his usual window seat when Ed and Harry wandered over and began an animated conversation which Dean didn’t appear to be interested and attempted to ignore the duo. Harry pulled a chair close to Dean’s and leaned close, talking to him quietly. Dean shook his head and tried to move away when Harry gripped his forearm. Dean’s eyes went wide and he looked down at the hand on his arm, jerking out of the other man’s grasp. He stood and glared at the still seated Harry, leaning close, he snarled and Eleanor could almost hear a growl. Dean shoved past the two men and stormed to the other side of the room, huffing as he sat on the couch in front of the TV, bringing his legs up and wrapping his arms around them, resting his forehead on his knees.

Eleanor knew Dean had major issues with touch. This young man had been hurt on a regular basis; he feared retribution yet balks at authority.

His self harming tendencies were apparent when he picked a fight with a larger, angrier patient; taunting them until he got hit, then both of them would get disciplined. This unfortunate attitude was Dean’s regular m.o. For almost nine months.

During group sessions, Dean was completely non-verbal and non-attentive. When in private sessions, he would, at times, answer with a few words or a nod or shrug of his shoulders. There were no freely shared thoughts or information.

On the day that Castiel Novak was introduced to the group during a session, Dean appeared more interested than usual and protective of the journal gifted by the Artist.

The introduction of Castiel into Dean’s schedule was a turning point in his treatment. Dean still didn’t speak for a few weeks, but eventually spoke to the Artist. He took a few more weeks before he began to use his words in other therapy sessions or to speak to other patients.

Eleanor feared that Dean might have been fixating on Castiel which could prove harmful if the Artist wasn’t aware, careful, or unreceptive to the man’s psychological needs.

As it turned out, Castiel had not only amazing artistic talent and ability to teach; he had an uncanny ability to get through to each of the patients in his class. No matter their emotional duress, he treated them as equals and was able to cater to their individual needs. When it came to Dean, there seemed to be a unique bond between the two men. Eleanor tried to warn Castiel not to become too attached to Dean, but they became fast friends, and there was a level of trust from Dean that she had not seen before.

The more the two men were together, the closer they grew. Their friendship slowly became more than just friends. Castiel shared with Eleanor how much he cared for Dean and that he felt a love for the man that he had never felt for anyone before.

In a separate, private session, Dean admitted to Eleanor that he really liked Castiel and wanted to be able to date him, even if that was only time spent together here at the Center.

The love between them was apparent, and Eleanor agreed to let them — carefully and under an agreement to continue to be open and honest during counseling sessions — become an item.

It was a beautiful thing to watch their love for each other grow. To see how Dean allowed simple touches from Castiel - a gentle hand rubbing on his back, or laid on his knee, holding hands as they walked along the paths in the gardens. Dean would stare openly at Castiel with a smile on his lips while Castiel was teaching the art classes, often causing the artist to stumble over his words - Eleanor had to admit it was actually cute witnessing the two love birds shyly stumble on the edge of romance like two teenagers. She had the joy of watching Dean blush when he leaned close during lunch one day and kissed Castiel on the cheek.

Dean became more and more open and eventually was able to spend time away from the Center with Castiel. His behaviour was so different than it was the months he was alone in the clinic, when he was fighting everyone, causing himself harm, refusing all attempts for help or assistance. Eleanor remembers the time, not long before Castiel came to begin his classes, when Dean had stolen a razor blade and was cutting his leg, and was caught by one of the orderlies. The confrontation had turned into an all-out battle, two orderlies had to restrain Dean while the third shot him full of sedatives so they could get him to the infirmary. During the scuffle, the razor broke and a piece had become embedded in Dean’s thigh, the doctor had to remove the metal shard and stitch up Dean’s leg. He also received a bruised rib and black eye from the fight with the orderlies. Now though, watching him laugh and talk with medical staff as well as other patients was like night and day. The true spirit of Dean was finally shining through.

When it came time for Dean’s eighteen-month sentence hearing, Castiel was there. Dean was released under his own recognizance, and a month later the two men took a vacation that was only short of a honeymoon by the lack of a marriage certificate.

**Author's Note:**

> As a special "Happy Birthday to ME" I'm sharing this prequel with my loyal readers. I hope you enjoy the addition.


End file.
